


That Poor Tree

by arielchan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Closeted Character, Frottage, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arielchan/pseuds/arielchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auror Harry Potter is maybe a bit too married to his job. It's a good thing he sees capturing dark wizards as a vacation, but he could still stand to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter, The Man Who Lived (Twice), put on the big sunglasses he'd bought at Beachcombers, and propped his feet up on his lawn chair conveniently located on Chub Cay of the Berry Islands of the Bahamas, one of the smaller and more secluded islands in the area. Its claim to fame being fishing, it wasn't a huge tourist attraction.

Harry was on week three of his two month vacation. Apparently, as an auror, you could only spend so many years (in his case, four) incarcerating dark wizards without a vacation before your best friends and coworkers conspired to magically lock you out of every single Ministry building for two months. Harry thought this was bollocks. Catching Death Eaters was a vacation.

The first week and six days of his vacation had consisted of him moping around his flat and occasionally going down to the office to attempt some new way of breaking in to his workplace. The last day of the second week had ended with Ron showing up and telling him if he didn't take a break Ron would take his wand away and then Floo him to Bermuda, and Harry deciding that wasn't a bad idea.

Now, Harry was kicking back, drinking a pina colada, and only occasionally thinking about all the dark wizards he could be locking away in Azkaban.

Sipping at his drink, watching his skin slowly darken, a small scuffle off to his left interrupted the peace of the mostly-deserted beach. He turned toward the sound slowly, lazy from the sun.

Two men were having a quiet argument, obviously a lover's tiff, nearby. The first, a native islander, with smooth dark skin and long black hair, was insistently tugging the other man toward the beach, and the other was balking. As they wrestled in harsh near-whispers, Harry saw that the other man was not an islander, but a fellow outsider with albino-like blonde hair and the deeply tanned coloring of someone who had "gone native", in more ways than one. It wasn't until he pulled away from his lover with a snap that Harry recognized the shocked face of Draco Malfoy, one of the last Death Eaters Harry's department had not tracked down, staring right back at him.

Moments later, Malfoy was sprawled out on his back in the sand, Harry straddling his lower torso and patting him down, looking for his wand. "Excuse me," said the rather miffed and apparently flamingly gay island boy. "But just what are you doing with my boyfriend?"

Not having his wand with him, Harry flipped out his wallet from his swim trunks and opened it to the magical badge all aurors were required to carry in the event of capturing a fugitive in the presence of Muggles. The badge instantly transformed itself into that of the local law enforcement. "I'm an officer of the law," Harry said, still feeling Malfoy up in front of his boyfriend, "And this man is a dangerous criminal I'm taking in to custody."

"I'm not armed, officer," Draco sneered. "Now would you please get off me?" Harry grabbed the former Death Eater by the elbow and dragged him to his feet, then was at as loss as to what he should do with his prisoner. He didn't have his wand, nor did he have Muggle handcuffs. He looked around in confusion before catching the eye of Malfoy's (ex)boyfriend, who looked very put out by this whole affair.

"Excuse me, but do you know where I could get some rope?"

\----

Harry took a few steps back and surveyed his handiwork. It wasn't quite what he'd had in mind, and part of him blushed severely at the knowledge that Malfoy had prior, more pleasant experiences with this rope, but he felt much better with his prisoner secured.

"God," said Malfoy. "I'm tied to a tree. I can't believe you tied me to a fucking tree, Potter. I can't believe you're camping in a tent in the Bahamas. Miles of luxury hotels with beautiful featherbeds you could tie me to, and instead you sleep in a tent on the beach. Auror work not paying very well these days?"

"My job pays great, Death Eater," Harry replied cheerfully. "It pays me in the satisfaction of capturing scum like you before you hurt innocents any longer."

"I'll have you know," said Draco. "That so-called innocent back there hurt me just as often as I hurt him, and he enjoyed every minute of it."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, actually blushing pretty thoroughly this time, and turning to build a fire pit between the tent and the tree so that neither of them would starve or freeze during the night.

"Seriously, Potter, could you at least tie me somewhere else? Or tie me sitting down? Or let me put on something other than a swim suit so that my skin isn't scraped off by tree bark?"

"Nope," said Harry calmly, piling sticks in the middle of the stone circle he'd constructed. "You'll be grateful you're tied to that tree tomorrow, when I'm gone looking for a way to transport you back home. Palm fronds are very shady." Draco muttered something inaudible, and Harry, already tired of the other boy's mouth, let it slide.

After several minutes of silence while Harry built up the future fire and straightened out his tent, Draco spoke again. "What is the almighty savior of the world doing in the Bahamas, anyway?"

"Vacationing," said Harry. "My idea of a relaxing break from work is capturing fugitive followers of the very much deceased Dark Lord. What are you doing here, hosting Tupperware parties for your friends? Oh, wait. I put them all in Azkaban."

"You're warped, Potter," Malfoy responded, sounding slightly impressed. "I'm here for the same reason as you, of course. Vacation," he smirked, sarcastic. "It's the only logical reason for me to be here, not that I was perhaps trying to escape being sent to prison for the sins of my father."

Harry snorted, and sat down in the sand in front of his tent. "Sure, Malfoy. You're an innocent little lamb," when the prisoner didn't respond, he turned toward him and tried to look curious. "So Draco Malfoy bats for the other team now? I always did think Parkinson looked more like a transvestite than a girl."

"I'm handsome, single, and rich," Malfoy replied, raising one barely-visible eyebrow. "Of course I'm gay. Don't you know anything about how the world works?"

"Sorry, no," said Harry, feeling rather pleased to have gotten his rival talking again. "I was too busy having sex with women to know."

"You don't fool me, Potter. You've never had so much as your hand up a skirt, much less anything else. If you had, the whole school would have known about it."

"I've had sex with women since school," Harry snapped, throwing another stick in the fire pit with a crack. "Lots of them. Beautiful pureblood girls that you might be marrying if you weren't such an evil, twisted little ferret."

"Ginny Weasley doesn't count as a beautiful pureblood girl, especially as you only dated her because she looked like her brother." Harry turned beet red with rage. "I doubt you've ever touched her, or anyone else for that matter, unless all of you pathetic losers up in that tower used to just have one big orgy of datelessness. I can picture it now, one big red and gold circle jerk, courage and passion flying everywhere."

"We never…," Harry faltered, having trouble talking through the anger that choked his tongue. "I would never do something like that. It's… you're disgusting."

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, almost managing to look innocent as he peered up at Harry through his long eyelashes. "Are you afraid you'd like it?"

"Regardless of what I may do in your sick fantasies," Harry said, just barely keeping his cool. "I'm not actually gay, Malfoy. That's you're problem, isn't it?" He leaned back, propping himself up with one elbow and sliding his shirt up to show off his abs with the other hand. "You want me, don't you, Malfoy? Is that why you could never think of a witty comeback when I was around? Because I don't think you're stupid. I think you're a coward, and a prick, and a bigot, and a murdering son of a bitch, but you're not stupid." He licked his lips, giving Draco a smoldering look.

Draco turned his gaze away, toward the dunes and the barely-visible lights of luxury hotels. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. I don't do half-bloods."

"Really," Harry asked, his hand drifting down to unfasten his shorts. "But you do Muggles, like that boy back there? I bet I can make you rethink your decision." He pulled out his half-erect cock, stroking it once, slowly, and realizing somewhere in the back of his mind that at some point he had clearly lost control. "What do you think, Malfoy?"

"What do you expect me to do, Potter?" he asked, still turned away. "Do you want me to go get a ruler? Has it come to that, finally?"

"I expect you to look at me, Draco," he said softly, but firmly. "Look."

As though his face were pulled on an invisible wire, Draco's head turned back immediately, and his eyes focused in on Harry's cock, now standing at full attention. Amazingly calm, Harry relaxed back slightly and began slowly stroking himself again, watching Draco watch him through narrowed eyes. After a few minutes, he stopped. His lips twitched upwards when he heard the barest hint of a whimper, and he moved up onto his knees, pulling his shirt off, before getting back down to business.

"You didn't answer me," Harry said in a low, breathy voice. "What do you think?"

"… s'nice," Draco said, licking his lips.

"I bet you wish you weren't tied up now," Harry added. "I bet you wish I was fucking you." A whimper, barely louder than the one before, and Harry's hand sped up, tearing a loud moan from his chest. Draco echoed him, and he brought his other hand up to stroke his chest and abs, throwing his head back and thrusting into his hand. "I bet you wish," he muttered, voice cracking. "That you'd never left."

"Yes," Draco whispered, and Harry came, shuddering, onto the sand.

He fell back and lay still for several moments, before he heard grunting from the tree and looked up to see Malfoy pushing against his bonds, trying to get loose, and sporting a considerable hard-on through his swim trucks. "Please, Potter," he says. "Just let one hand free. Just for a moment. You can tie me right back up, I swear."

"No," said Harry. "You're a dangerous criminal and a Slytherin. I can't trust you."

"Please, Potter. Anything." Harry grabbed the back of Draco's head and yanked him as far forward as he could, then pressed their mouths together roughly for a few brief, enthusiastic minutes, before he drew back, panting, but having given as good as he got.

"Good night, Malfoy. Be sure you sleep well, as we'll have a loooong trip to make tomorrow," Harry said cheerfully, stumbling into his tent.

"Sleep deep," Draco muttered.

The next morning, when Harry stumbled outside to see if he could get some use out of his morning erection before heading back to London, he found a palm tree very lovingly tied to itself. On closer inspection, he found a note in all that rope, and managed to unbind it eventually, with the help of a sharp rock.

"My Darling Confused Potter,

England's Aurors clearly need more training in Muggle methods of prisoner retention. That is to say, you are crap at knots. It would improve your skills greatly if you took lessons from my former sweetheart, Palani. He may not be bright, but he knows how to tie a fisherman's knot, and untie it again backwards with his eyes closed. I hope you tell him that I am forever grateful. I'm sure he can give you a few other pointers about me while you're at it.

Anyway, enough puttering around here. The fellow in town I borrowed this pen from would probably like it back. I'm sure I'll see you around again soon.

Lovingly Yours,  
Draco Malfoy

P.S.- If you want my advice (and you probably don't) a fishing island is not the place for you. There is another island perfectly suited for lions that I think you would like much better."

Harry grinned, crumpled the note, and stuffed it in his pocket. It was time, as Draco had said, to stop puttering around here, and get to work. Apprehending terrifying Dark Wizards was his job, after all, and he had reason to believe the citizens of Cat Island might be in serious danger. He began to pack.


	2. Stalking Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry had been on Cat Island for eight goddamned days now with no sight of Draco Please-Fuck-My-Sneer-Off Malfoy._

Harry had been on Cat Island for eight goddamned days now with no sight of Draco Please-Fuck-My-Sneer-Off Malfoy. He was no longer sure if he was going to slam Malfoy into a wall and screw his brains out or just beat him up and take him in to headquarters, vacation be damned. While option one would be considerably more enjoyable on a physical level, the second choice would be a brilliant surprise for Ron, Hermione, and the rest of his team since he hadn’t even told them that he saw Malfoy to begin with. As far as they knew, he had simply given in and chosen to enjoy his time off.

It was stiflingly hot on Cat, not pleasantly sunny like it was on the Berry Islands. Berry had been for beaches and fishing spots, while Cat was all forests, hills, and ruins. The moisture seeping up from the ground under his feet completely negated any cooling from the leafy canopy above him, leaving him feeling as though the air itself was sticking to his skin.

For eight days now he’d been living off the land of the island, eating fish he’d caught and fruit he’d found. Admittedly, he used magic for both tasks as well as transfiguring a sleeping surface for himself at night, but he was never much of an outdoorsman. When he stumbled suddenly into a clearing he must have seen twenty times before and noticed there was actually a small inn next to the ruins he’d glanced at before he gave in and gave up completely on ever locating the infuriating Death Eater he’d been chasing in favor of a cool room and a soft bed.

So of course he was no sooner in the front door of the hotel than he saw the smarmy git smiling down at him from the wall.

It took him a few moments to realize that what he was looking at was actually a Muggle photographic portrait taken of Draco with his mother and father. The adult Malfoys were standing straight as rods, looking down on him in disapproval, dressed to the nines in finery. Lucius Malfoy had one hand, the left one, on the shoulder of his wife, who had her hand in turn on their smirking son. Since the Malfoys both died in the second war, Harry estimated the portrait must be at least three years old.

Green eyes narrowed in suspicion, Harry rang the small bell on the table to see what happened and after a few moments a tall, proud-looking native woman swept into the room, black hair coiled in a tight bun. Seeing Harry looking at the picture, she smiled. “Welcome,” she said. “Would you like a room?”

“No ma’am,” Harry said, watching her face fall slightly. “I’m looking for someone. The young man in this photograph, in fact. Do you know here he might be?”

All vestige of friendliness dropped off the young woman’s face as she answered, “Mister Malfoy is staying in his personal room on the premises, sir. May I tell him who is calling and why?”

“Harry Potter,” her brown eyes widened in sudden shock and Harry realized that she must be a witch herself, then nearly hits himself in the head at his own stupidity. Of course the Malfoys would never have a Muggle woman working in a place they had interest in or possibly even owned. “Tell him I’m here as a… confused friend.” The young woman nodded and disappeared back through the doorway she’d come from.

Harry circled the room while he waited, examining what was on closer inspection a Muggle artifice of a foyer. It had obviously been constructed by someone who knew more of Muggles than the Malfoys did, but there were enough objects out of place that it didn’t withstand a truly keen eye, and as Harry was looking he thought he saw movement from his peripheral vision. He looked up just in time to see the Draco in the photograph pull his tongue back into his mouth and he laughed.

A cough behind him turned him around so that he saw the woman had come back. “Follow me, please,” she said and led him through her door to a flight of stairs angled downwards. “Mister Malfoy is waiting for you in his quarters,” she said stiffly, then turned and walked off before he could comment.

The door was open to the room at the bottom of the stairs and Harry walked into a room decorated in intense green and warm brown, the feel of the very forest he’d come from replicated with air conditioning. Air conditioning and a tan, shirtless blonde man in jeans lounging on sleek green bed sheets. “Well, Potter,” he said with a white grin. “Welcome to my summer house at last. I didn’t think you could become an Auror without a sense of direction.”

“Like I bloody well knew where I was going,” Harry exclaimed, crossing his arms. “You give the worst fucking clues I’ve ever seen from a white-collar criminal.”

“No no, Potter. Fucking was the bait. The clue was ‘lions’.”

“It was still a bloody stupid clue,” Harry muttered, turning away from the blond, and seconds later he found himself sprawled across the very bed where Draco had been laying.

“Listen, Potter,” the Slytherin spat. “I didn’t invite you here for clever wordplay and a repeat performance of last week, entertaining as that may have been. I asked you here because you scared off my source of regular orgasms with that ‘arrest the wanted criminal’ business of yours and I expect to be reimbursed in full. Now we can get to the fucking or I can have my employees throw you out on your stupid saviouring ass.”

Harry yanked him down by his trademark hair and shut him up with a liberal application of tongue to mouth.

Draco gripped him tightly, forcing their bodies together as hard as he could and snogging him back for a moment before he pulled back and bit down fiercely on Harry’s neck, making him moan, arch, and clutch at the blond’s ass.

Seduced and befuddled by kisses and bites swarming over his face and neck, Harry didn’t even notice that his shirt was off until Draco was sucking hard on one nipple, thrusting a hand down the front of his shorts to tease his cock with a brush of cool fingers. He grabbed for fabric on Draco’s back, but finding none went for his zipper instead. His hand palming Draco’s erection through the denim drug his first low moan out of his former nemesis.

Harry pulled his brain from the fog when he realized he did have Malfoy’s zipper down and his cock in his hand. Draco was biting his lip, frowning in concentration as he thrust into Harry’s warm palm, and he thought suddenly that this might be the hottest moment of his entire life.

“Don’t bet on it,” Malfoy gasped, then rolled them so he was pinned underneath Harry’s weight. Harry looked puzzled, but then Draco pushed his hand aside, clutched his ass, and pulled his hips down so their cocks rubbed and nestled together. “That’s it,” Malfoy gasped. “You shouldn’t need remedial lessons in this.”

Harry grinned despite the insult. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I will.” He thrust forward, meeting Draco’s erection with his own, growing more desperate, more frantic with each rocking of his hips until he was lying fully on the man beneath him, no air between their sweat-slicked skin, breathing the other’s breath and biting his lips.

When Draco shook and cried out, Harry was momentarily surprised, forgetting his own impending orgasm in the intensity of watching a former Death Eater fall to pieces openly beneath him and before he knew it he was joining him, rocking out the last remnants of pleasure on his hip.

Harry fell to the side and wiggled automatically under the sheets he’d been laying on. “Excuse me,” the blond said, voice muffled beside him. “But why do you think you’re staying?”

“I haven’t reimbursed you fully yet, have I? For all the orgasms I deprived you of?”

Silence stretched out for a long time and Harry drifted off, peacefully to sleep. “Just don’t get my sheets dirty,” whispered the other, then with a wave of the crooked stick propped on the lamp by the bed, the lights went out.


End file.
